We left Gretchen�s house on the heels of favorable winds, driving hard against the clock. We were nearly an hour behind schedule, but with a little help from my lead foot, we could still make it up in time for my first class.
I was troubled by many things, not least of which was the relentlessly emotional parting we had just endured.
�Is this going to get easier?� she asked, knowing I didn�t have an answer.
Honestly, every time I left �the ex� back when we were dating, I was far more relieved then saddened. Each week with her was like a solid month of emotionally abusive boot camp, and time away quickly became an opportunity to recharge my batteries after she thoroughly drained the life out of me.
Leaving Gretchen was not like that. I didn�t have the urge to die a violent vehicular death, as I usually did with the ex. If anything, I wanted to see her even more the next day, which was a marked change. Enduring the Ex for more then a week in a row made you instantly eligible for Sainthood, and I hear that if you do it without crying, you automatically become Pope.
�Will I see you again soon?� Another question without an answer. Why do girls ask me hard questions?
�Why do you love me? Are we really friends? You�re not one of those perverts who wants to have two women at once, are you?�
The most troubling thing was realizing that I�d somehow sunk myself into another long-distance relationship after vehemently resisting the option. The logical and emotional parts of my brain start a fist fight as one argues the truth of emotion while the other demands recognition of the reality of the situation.
The truth was that I didn�t know when I could see her again, and I didn�t expect those answers to come any easier in the future. So what if the questions keep getting harder?
As my mind raced along, the car came to a literal screeching halt.
Our impetuous rush smashed headlong against a fleet of cars parked on 95 North. It would seem that some dramatic force waited up the path, if only to introduce conflict into my story.
Traffic as antagonist.
I begin calling work shortly thereafter to give reports on my progress. My first message was optimistic, saying that I might be cutting it close. A half-hour later, we were only sixty yards ahead of our previous position and I'd given up any hope of arriving on time. All the traffic was slowly oozing towards a single open lane on the shoulder of the highway almost a mile ahead, and we were caught at the far end of the drift, like molasses rolling uphill.
One hour, one pit stop, and a whole load of frustration later, we were sailing north through the hordes. Pirates of the turnpike, racing against that punk-bitch, Father Time.
Dexter split the ride between her lap and mine, looking as cute as cute can be. "Look at his ears! He's so cute!" she says. "Isn't he like the best dog ever?!?"
More and more, it seemed that she was posturing herself to become attached to this little scoundrel-in-training. It seemed quite obvious that I had to make it my personal mission to find him a home, simply to prevent him from adopting ours.
I can just barely handle an intense long-distance relationship right now, thus I'm in no position to become this dog's caretaker for any period of time.
He was cute though. Awful cute.
I spent an inordinate period of time doing mathematics in my head and discovered that we could actually arrive on time to catch the first class. I joyously announced that all we had to do was maintain a constant speed of 120 miles per hour without slowing or stopping along the way.
Splitting the difference, the car settles on 80.
I give my final call into work, head hung low, and informed them that I will not be there in time to cover my class. The shit did not hit the fan, but I was still disappointed at my poor planning.
With remarkable speed, we arrived in Manhattan an hour late for class and decided, for some strange reason, that I should take the dog with me to work.
The plan was that I'd show him off to a few people, see if he generated any interest, and then take him over to Petco to pick out a toy or two to placate his gnawing urges.
I realized the folly of my plan as soon as I walked in the door with his crate. The meek and quiet demeanor that made him so pleasant in the car quickly gave way to all the yappy instincts inherent to his breed. My job often requires courteous silence, and I had just brought the world's most frightened and yappy dog in with me.
I was only in the building for about ten minutes before I had to take him back outside. Okay, bad plan.
Outside the school, I took him out of his crate and put him on the leash, hoping he would calm down and purge whatever waste he'd been holding onto on the ride up. In the end, he did neither, but he seemed to easily attract attention by simply standing there and shivering.
Dexter's first suitor was a woman who was in charge of all the Polo/Ralph Lauren stores on the east coast.
She was pleasant, loving, cultured and undeniably well-off. She cradled him and cooed endlessly as her date tried in vain to draw her away to some play, for which they were late. Eventually, she succumbed to his urges, but handed me her business card before departing.
"Call me tonight if you haven't found a home by then." she said, then pouted down the street towards the theater. I have to admit that I liked her. She seemed kind and loving, yet obliviously impulsive. Judging from her behavior, I suspected that she would be prone to both spending sprees, and buyer's remorse.
Dexter and I would give her a few days to marinate.
The next suitor wasn't directly interested for herself, but for a friend who apparently only owns Dachshunds. I distrust strict breed loyalty in people, it's like only dating blondes or refusing to eat any kind of seafood. A life lived in strict specifications is just as questionable as one marked by broad generalizations.
I�m guilty of both.
"She might be looking for a puppy" she said, "If you call me later, I'll give you her number".
While she seemed like a nice enough lady, I couldn�t help but notice that was dressed like a cat-lady, or a golden retriever fan. I could imagine her sitting around her apartment, eating Hagen Daaz, wearing a sweatshirt with embroidered mallards on it.
After that, I imagine her and her Dachshund friend standing around, discussing the comfort factors of their huge cotton laundry-day panties while an older and chubbier Dexter gets poked by some brat toddler who spends his time at a Montessori day school.
I smiled and accepted her phone number, and quietly threw it in the flaming garbage can in my brain.
Call me a snob, but I felt that this dog needed something more exciting then a simple Land�s End existence.
Over at Petco, Dexter drew his only celebrity suitor as the Daily Show's Frank DeCaro stopped to receive a few loving licks. He and his partner seemed nice, but ultimately non-committal.
I understand they already have a dog.
Petco is one of those places where everyone is expected to walk around with their dog like it�s some kind of park, but I ended up holding Dexter most of the time. It seems that every time a big dog barks, Dexter get the urge to shit his pants.
I suppose we�re not really all that different.
Eventually, I decided to give the school another shot, and found Dexter to be far more calm and manageable when I brought him back inside. The staff oohed and ahhed and the kids squealed at the sight of him.
Puppies are just like old people, they�re all cute until one of them makes a mess on your floor. Charm always exits at the advent of shit.
Dexter sat there, mostly quiet through the remainder of the class, and after the class had ended, one young girl came trotting back with her mother in tow. For the next twenty minutes, they played with the puppy as he ran rambunctiously around the tile floors, stopping only occasionally to urinate or hide some piece of trash.
Dexter�s got this fun game where he pisses on the floor and the attacks the paper towel you use to clean up his mess.
It�s fun. Fun like accounting or cancer, but far cuter.
The mother gave me her number and asked me to call her soon.
I was impressed. Just three hours with barely a passing effort, and I'd already gotten two very solid leads. It seemed that finding a home for this dog would be far easier then I'd imagined.
I stuffed Dexter into his box and then went downstairs to apologize for missing my class again. In the process of apologizing, I was informed that we were getting both next Saturday and next Monday off. I�m not sure exactly when they had planned on telling us, but I certainly was not going to complain about four days off in a row.
Gretchen answered the phone after the second ring.
